by Kenneth Tindall

Dance with the Mommy and hear the Mommy say
What she likes of things and all manner of things,
And God you like the same things, so dance with the baby
And hear the baby say.
Remember when all of it was her milk?
The whole thing turned on her breasts' milk and this
Slip of a girl in the middle of the night lifting the baby
To hear him burp,
And you have touched this girl's breasts, your
Fingers in the purling millrace of stars and galaxies
Dripping in rings melodious as the little boy
Laughing in his sleep.
Likewise the night when you woke at a sound,
The tired girl was asleep her breasts uncovered
And the infant had risen up, had risen up and was
Talking to her,
Was leaning up his fingers playing with her breast...
Until he saw you looking and fell back to her side
And you understood his melodious language.
Copyright © 1993 by Kenneth Tindall

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The Galactogogue, 1 March 1999